


Anniversary

by ajsolomon14



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Light Angst, Natasha Is a Good Bro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-14 21:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5759524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajsolomon14/pseuds/ajsolomon14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Good morning, Sam. Cap behind you?" Sam shook his head, a worried frown on his face.</p>
<p>"I haven't seen him all day. I was hoping one of you might know where he is. He never showed up for his run."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anniversary

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic being posted anywhere, and I am slightly nervous. Criticism is appreciated, but please be kind.
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy!

The day started like any other. The Avengers gathered in the kitchen at various times during the morning, some earlier than others. After a while, everyone was there except Steve and Sam. They were still out on their run. Soon however, the ding of the elevator sounded, heralding their arrival. To everyone's surprise, only Sam walked in. Bruce was the first to speak up.

"Good morning, Sam. Cap behind you?" Sam shook his head, a worried frown on his face.

"I haven't seen him all day. I was hoping one of you might know where he is. He never showed up for his run." The Avengers all frowned and began throwing ideas around as to where he could be.

"Shopping?" Clint suggested.

Pietro shook his head. "He would have gone after the run," he replied, his accent thicker than usual, as he had not fully woken up yet. "Maybe he is in the gym."

"Nay," Thor replied. "It was empty, save for myself."

Tony snorted. "Maybe he just wanted to take a day and stay in bed. Even Capsicles can be lazy."

Rhodey shook his head and rolled his eyes simultaneously. "He's military. He would at least still get up. Put in an appearance. Maybe he wanted some alone time and went for a walk."

"No." The soft, accented voice drew everyone's attention. They all looked to see Wanda, seated at the table, her head tilted to the side. "He is still in the tower. I can sense him here." The Avengers exchanged worried glances. What was enough to keep the Captain in the tower, but away from everyone?

Clint glanced at Natasha, who was looking down at her phone, seemingly ignoring everyone around them. Clint could see the tension in her shoulders though. "Nat?" he asked, bringing her head up. "You've been awfully quiet. What are your thoughts?"

She calmly assessed everyone around her. "I think Steve is entitled to take a day, even if he doesn't explain to us why he is taking it. I also think you all should leave him to it." She stood up abruptly and left the room at a brisk pace.

Pietro broke the silence that had fallen, voicing the question everyone had on their minds. "What was that about?"

~~~~~~~~~~

Steve was sitting up on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. His gaze was trained against the opposite wall, but his eyes were unfocused. His thoughts were hundreds of miles away, and more than 70 years in the past. The less he tried to think about it, the more he heard and remembered it. More than 70 years ago, on this very same day, he had lost his best friend. Now, sitting in the tower, he couldn't help but remember over and over Bucky's scream as he fell.

Steve closed his eyes and took a deep breath. But he's not dead. Not anymore, the optimistic part of his brain reminded him. The pessimistic side of his brain in helpfully dredged up the memory of Bucky's empty eyes. He's still lost to me though.

Steve stayed in that same position for an indeterminable amount of time. It could have been only minutes, or it could have been hours. Locked in the back and forth of his own mind, Steve was unaware of the passage of time. His brain registered a presence in the room with him, his heightened senses unable to turn off, no matter how much he wanted them to. When he looked up, Natasha was standing in his doorway. Her face was blank for a moment, and then she cracked a smile.

"You're getting sloppy, Rogers," she said, her tone light and teasing. Inside, she was reeling. She hardly recognized the man in front of her, his eyes broken and full of pain. She kept her surprise carefully hidden. When Steve made no reply, just turned back to the wall, she took a few steps into the room.

"Everyone's worried about you," she told him. "They're wondering where you are." She took a few more steps forward. Her eyes caught on Steve's sketchbook, lying open beside him on the bed. It was open to a drawing of handsome young soldier. Even upside down, Natasha could see the cleverly captured mischief in his eyes, and the tilt of his mouth in a playful smile. Natasha's suspicions were confirmed. 

"Today was the day that Barnes died, wasn't it." It was a statement, not a question, and Steve didn't answer. His full-body flinch though, was more than enough of an answer for Natasha. She placed a slender hand on Steve's broad shoulder.

"Steve," she started.

"Don't." He cut her off abruptly, his voice rough. "Just... Don't. You don't understand."

Natasha's lips pressed into a thin line. "Then help me to understand," she said carefully. "None of us know what you're going through, and we won't know until you actually tell us."

"He was all I ever had," Steve whispered, his voice thick with tears. "Even when I had nothing, I had Bucky. And then... And then I lost him." Steve paused, his throat working. "And then, on the bridge, he was there. He was back but he also wasn't. I had gained him again, just to lose him. He helped me for so long, Nat, in so many ways. And I can't even help him remember himself now." Steve suddenly thumped the bed with his fist, his eyes filled anger and self-loathing, but also an extraordinary amount of pain. "I can't even help the man I love find himself." He looked up at Natasha, a million emotions running across his face. His voice, when he spoke, came out as a broken whisper. "What am I supposed to do?"

Natasha felt the faintest feeling of pleasure settle in her chest when her long standing suspicions about Steve's relationship with Bucky was confirmed, but it was overshadowed by her still present concern for Steve. She took a deep breath, out of her depth in this, in giving comfort to others, but knowing that she had to try anyway. "I don't know what to tell you, Steve," she said honestly. "All I can tell you is what I know form my own experience." She sat down on the bed, facing him, keeping one hand on his shoulder. "When Clint was taken by Loki and out under his spell, I had no idea what to do. I had never before encountered magic; my training, that I always fell back on, was insufficient to help me in this case. And... I was terrified." Natasha's breath caught after this admission, remembering the terror that she had felt. She kept talking though. "Even though I was afraid, I knew I had to keep fighting. I couldn't give up, not then, not ever. I couldn't sit, and dwell on the millions of 'what ifs' that were running through my head. Because I knew that if it did, I would break. And I couldn't afford that. Clint couldn't afford that." She caught Steve's eye with her own, and held him there with a steady gaze.

"I can't tell you how to deal with this, Steve, only you can. But ask yourself the same question that I asked myself every time that I wanted to give up: would he want you to give up?"

Steve stared at her blankly for a minute, but as the tears began to well anew in his eyes, he leaned forward and pulled her into a tight hug. He clung to her tightly, but not tight enough that he hurt her. Even in pain and crying, Steve was careful with his strength. Natasha, shocked, did nothing for a moment, but then she slowly, tentatively, brought her hands up to hug him back as he cried into her shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispered thickly, his voice muffled in her shirt.

"You're welcome," she said back softly. Steve pulled back suddenly, an abashed look on his face, but his eyes seemed a little better, a little light. 

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I know you're not a big fan of the," he waved one of his hands in mid air, "touching thing."

Natasha smiled a bit at his kindness. "It's okay, Steve, really."

He smiled his half smile at her, the one that only took half of his mouth to do, and the one he did most often when he was sad but still trying to smile anyway. He glanced down at his still open sketchbook, and traced careful fingers across the page.

"I miss him," he said softly.

"What are you going to do about it?" Natasha asked him.

Steve looked up at her. His eyes still held the pain that they had before, but it was muted now, hidden behind the bright determination that shone through brightly instead.

"I'm going to find him. And I won't stop until I do."


End file.
